"I still don't understand why you're doing this."
I sigh heavily. Trace means well, and I know if the situation were reversed, I'd be just as confused. But it's not reversed. It's been a few months, and my nightmares have been getting less and less extreme everyday. That's probably because I've plunged headfirst into work. Trace says I'm avoiding what happened. I tell him it's the only way I can sleep nights. "I don't expect you to understand," I speak up softly. "You didn't have to come."
He glances at me from the corner of his eye as he drives. "Fuck, Justin. I wasn't about to let you come up here by yourself, and I know nobody else would have taken you."
"I would have come by myself." I tried to. I packed a bag, and was ready to walk out of the house without telling anybody where I was off to. But then Trace showed up on my doorstep, concerned because I'd turned off my cellphone, and asked me where I was going. True, it was odd that I was leaving the house on a day that he knew I'd taken off from the studio. I never go out anymore. Trace has tried countless times to bring me out, but I just can't do it yet. I'm afraid that somebody will take advantage of me...that I'll end up chained to a wall someplace. I always think Charlie escaped from prison, and that he's out in the world lurking around every corner, trying to seek his revenge on me because I got away and ruined his plan.
I hope that motherfucker rots in prison, gets gang raped in the shower and shit.
Not just because of what he did to me.
But for everything he ever did to her.
"Let me get a little hypothetical, J. Let's say you guys talk, and she starts to tell you that she really does have feelings for you. How are you gonna know that it's not some act? How are you gonna know she's not just using you because you're fucking vulnerable, and she doesn't want to spend the next thirty or so years in prison? I mean, lets' face it...she's the type that does what she has to do to survive."
"She's not like that," I grunt. We've had this discussion before, too many times to count. I guess that's because I went there and told him how I really feel about Samantha. I know the idea is crazy and unrealistic, but Trace is my best friend, and he's supposed to understand. "I wish you could just talk to her, Trace. I wish you could see her like I do."
"I have no desire to talk to her," he says, disgusted. "She drugged you, dragged you off to some fucking hellhole and helped her twisted boyfriend to keep you there for a week. How the fuck you expect me to "see her" like you do, is beyond me. You know what I wish? I wish you would take your family's advice and go see that shrink. That's what you need, not a trip down memory lane. I mean, what the fuck are you gonna talk about, Justin? You act like you're old friends or something, and she's just on a temporary vacation."
"I told you what happened," I whisper. "It's not like you make it sound. She's a good person she was just...sort of brainwashed for awhile. She didn't have options."r32;
"Fuck that," he grunts. "If things worked out differently, she would have killed you."
I look over at him. His jaw is clenched in frustration and he's shaking his head roughly, like he can't believe what's going on right now. "She shot him before he could kill me. If she wanted me dead, she would have let him do it."
"How long are you staying?" He says, completely avoiding what I just said to him. "I have to think of a good story to tell your folks. Fuck, maybe I'll just go to Mexico or something, and tell them you came with me. At least there I can get drunk and bang my girl in peace, and your mom will be thrilled I got you to leave your house for once. It's so fucked up, man," he laughs sadly. "You know, I've been trying for months to get you back into the swing of things, to come party with us, and you refuse. But you're fine with checking into some hotel and staying in bum fuck California by yourself for a couple of days."
There's nothing I can really say to make him change his mind about this. He thinks I'm fucked up, that Samantha is nothing more than a ruthless criminal, and I have to accept his opinion and not push him about it. At least he hasn't turned his back on me, gone to my folks and told them what I'm trying to do. But Trace isn't the type. He's practically my brother, and we have one of those sacred bonds. And this...this is something he'd take to the grave with him. He knows that if he didn't, my mom would probably commit me or something, so in a sense...he's shielding me from that.
But that doesn't mean he has to like it.
"Two, maybe three days," I tell him. "That lawyer I talked to is flying in from New York to talk about our options. He really thinks that she has a shot at an appeal if I testify on her behalf, since I didn't testify at her original trial."
"Psh." He shakes his head again. "If you have time, think about why you couldn't testify at her original trial, Justin."
"That wasn't her fault."
He eyes me skeptically. "You're really dense."
I decide to drop the subject for now. It's apparent that he's getting more heated as we get into what's going on, so I'll let him think for awhile and wait for him to speak up again. I focus my attention on the open road ahead. It's pretty desolate now, we left the busy city highway behind hours ago. The signs looming overhead point to a town called Chowchilla. There's a prison there.
That's where she is.
"I hope that if I ever do something fucked up enough to land me in prison, you'll drive four hours to see my ass, Justin."
I look over at him again, expecting to see that same look of disgust spread across his face. It's not there anymore though...not really. He's sort of smirking, probably trying to make the best of this. "Maybe, if I have enough gas."
He looks at me, and I start to laugh.
He sighs. "Just promise me that you'll call, so I know you didn't get murdered by some escaped prisoner."
His tone is plagued with worry now instead of anger, and I know he's starting to loosen up a little. I know all he really wants for me is to get back to normal...to start living again, to be happy. "I'll call, Trace."
He drives off the exit, and starts to follow the signs that lead to the Central California Women's Facility. It's silent now. I think I'm too nervous to say anything, and Trace is just freaked the hell out. I wonder what she looks like, if she's feeling any better now that he's out of her life for good.
I wonder if she still loves me.
My hand closes around the letter she wrote me. I have it memorized, word for word. There's so much concern in it, so much love...just for me, even though she's the one that's facing a horrible fate. One that she doesn't deserve, even though the majority thinks she does.
Now more than ever, I know why this happened to me.
It happened so I could save her.
